Jump The Line (Toein' The Line Book 1) (27 page)

Wha
t’
s driving Megalo Don to gnaw on these women? 

Angie Miller, like Alaina, was a topless dancer at Oma
r’
s.  But there all similarities, and details I can use as points of comparison between Megal
o’
s vics, end.  Angie Miller was a vanilla blonde with a lush young cheerleade
r’
s body, same as vic number tw
o’
s.  Trim at twenty-two, Angi
e’
s body would have gone fleshy after childbirth, if sh
e’
d lived.  Alaina, on the other hand, is dark haired, and taut and low slung with a serious athlet
e’
s torso and thighs and calves: a Ferrari to Angi
e’
s Cadillac.  Other than the fact they both danced at Oma
r’
s, the two share little in common.  And Meera, NP
D’
s first vic, also has nothing other than age in common with Angie Miller and Alaina Colby.  Until we figure out Meer
a’
s identity, no one can say where she even worked.

Like the throb from an old wound in my hip, one question plagues me.  If Bite Doc is Megalo Don, wha
t’
s his motive?

“
Thi
s’
ll speed things up
,”
Doc says, winching Angi
e’
s mouth open wider with the speculum and then stepping back like h
e’
s unveiling a painting at the Louvre.

The vi
c’
s mouth drifts open, like sh
e’
s enjoying a gaping yawn, awakening from a nap.  Fortunately for us, her eyelids are glued shut, so I do
n’
t have to look into her shocked sad gaze as
I’
m inspecting the interior of her mouth.

“
Here you go, son
.
”

I accept the penlight magnifier Doc shoves into my hands.  Holding my breath against the deathly sickening raw-steak, the meaty smell, I peer inside the vi
c’
s mouth. 

“
Bingo
,”
I say.  Angi
e’
s upper maxilla, left quadrant, first and second bicuspids as
I’
m facing her, are missing.
 “
Was there ante mortem blood in her mouth
?
”

“
Filled with it
,”
Doc confirms.
 “
Took me a while to clean her up so I could even look
,”
he says, looking proud of his bastard so
n’
s quick mind.

I can tell he knows precisely how Angi
e’
s teeth were removed, but he gives away nothing.  Like I said, in here h
e’
s all business.  H
e’
s a drunk, womanizing lech, facts no one questions.  But he is
n’
t putting evidentiary analysis into my hands.  I
t’
s his job to figure out the cause and manner of death.  I
t’
s my job to figure out who killed Angie Miller and why.

“
The
y’
ve been cut out
?”
I ask, peering with the pen light into the vi
c’
s silenced mouth, fighting my urge to dwell on what a tragedy this is for Angie Miller and her family. 

“
Yep.  Used a surgical knife
.
”
 
He points to cuts along the gum line.  They run up into the jawbone.
 “
I sure as hell did
n’
t make those with my needle
,”
he adds.

I straighten.
 “I’
m done
.
”  

“
Uh-huh
,”
Doc says, lost in a fog and already figuring how to restore his previous handiwork, the rewiring of her facial maxillary.  When he pulls the speculum out, Angi
e’
s mouth drifts open.
 “
Do
n’
t worry. 
I’
ll re-set her face, son
,”
he says, his voice spurious, colluding with me now and casting yet another favor my way.
 “
Her folks wo
n’
t know w
e’
ve had an unauthorized look
.
”
 
Watching as the slack mouth yawns, he says
,“
But if yo
u’
d have asked me, I woul
d’
ve told you how those teeth came out
.
”

“I’
m grateful for the favor . . . Doc, but
I’
d never ask you to do that.  Anyway, I had to see for myself
.
”
 
Shaking my head, fighting sadness at the tragedy humans visit on each other, I shrug and turn away from Angie Mille
r’
s cadaver.

“
Right.  I understand
,”
he says.
 “I’
m proud of you, son.  Real proud
.
”

“
Bastard probably got off watching her scream
,”
I say, concluding my evidentiary analysis.
 “
Just cut out her teeth and listened to her scream
.
”

“
Catch him, will you?  H
e’
s one ruthless bastard.  I want to see his ass fry.  Beside
s
”
—
Doc Smalley glances at the cloc
k
—
“
h
e’
s costing me a shitload of overtime
.
”

I tear off my surgical gloves, then the mask and gown, and toss them in a hazardous waste container.
 “
Thanks for letting me take a look.  I
t’
s more of a favor than I expected
.
”

“
My pleasure.  You got time for a beer at the country club
?
”

“
Nah, sorry, but
I’
m still on for breakfast tomorrow, though
.
”

“
Good
.
”
 
He starts wheeling away Angi
e’
s gurney. 

“
Did Doctor Verbote stop by here today
?”
I ask.

“
Sure did
,”
Doc says, stopping to answer my question.
 “
Meyers practically ordered his ass down here first thing this morning.  He took impressions before I sewed shut her mouth and set her face
.
” 

I file the info away.  When
I’
d met with him this morning, Bite Doc knew Angi
e’
s teeth were missing and how the
y’
d been removed.  So why did
n’
t he just say so?  Did he think I needed to see for myself?  Or is he messing with my head?

It would
n’
t be the first time a per
p’
s taunted me.  The thought hardens my resolve to nail Megalo Don. 

“
Are
n’
t you going to cover her
?”
I ask, noting the vi
c’
s exposed shoulder.

“I’
ll do it when I close her back up
.
”

The Miller
s
’ daughte
r’
s body is laying on a gurney in the morgue, her shoulder and other parts gnawed like an unfinished pot roast.  All the while, a sick bastard is running around getting off on some other young gir
l’
s pain.  I point toward the framed motto above the door. 
Cadavers are people, too.

“
Well, dammit, son, you
are
exasperating
,”
he says, and smiling he pulls the white paper sheet over Angi
e’
s face, her mouth frozen wide in a silent scream.

“
See you tomorrow morning at breakfast.  Yo
u’
re buying
.
”

“
Sure thing, Doc
.
”
 
Dad.
  I try it on for size.  It feels . . . weird.

Unable to make up my mind whether to go home or have a few brews with friends, I realize finally wha
t’
s going on with me, why I feel so cranky. 
I’
m consumed by this case.  I wo
n’
t stop to eat or sleep until
I’
ve nailed Megalo. 
I’
ve got a to-do list longer than my arm, so socializing is out for now.  Maybe forever if I do
n’
t get something on Megalo Don.

Chapter 25

Leaving Newport, I take the Big Mac across and hit the rive
r’
s Ohio side twenty minutes after leaving Doc Smalley at the morgue.  Realizing
I’
ve not eaten, I decide to hit Popey
e’
s for some fried chicken.  Dinner and life as usual will be spent in my car, where
I’
ll catch up on phone calls.

“
Yeah, Hawks
,”
I tell myself
,“
you are living the life of a dick now, ai
n’
t you, buddy
?
”

Wha
t’
s Megal
o’
s motive?
  The question plagues me, my mind wandering over the investigatio
n’
s progress, or its lack thereof as I head for Popey
e’
s. 
I’
ve verified what Bite Doc said about Angie Mille
r’
s teeth being cut out ante mortem, so
I’
m more obsessed than ever with figuring out wha
t’
s driving Megalo Don. 

Meer
a’
s missing her first and second bicuspid, upper maxilla, right quadrant.  Angi
e’
s missing the same teeth, left quadrant.  This makes two of sixteen female victims, just as Bite Doc said.  Wanting to get We
s
’ take on all this, I call him and bring him up to speed.

“
So other than Meera and Angie, where are Megal
o’
s other vics
?”
he asks. 

“
Wh
y’
s that so important right now, Wes
?”
I fire back.

“
Wish I knew who they were
,”
Wes says.  As frustrated as I am, h
e’
s searching for the same thing I feel is important: motive. 
Why?

“
I do
n’
t know where his other vics are
,”
I say, truthful.
 “
One thin
g’
s sure, though.  This son-of-a-bitch is
n’
t stopping any time soon.  Those women are out there, and you and I both know h
e’
s got them targeted. 

“
Can you do me a favor
?
”

“
Name it
,”
Wes says.   

“
Find out what Hollow Volume Overlay is
.
”
 
I explain my visit with Doc Verbote and his work with HVO to identify and compare bite wounds on Meera and Angie Miller.
 “
I specifically want to know its evidentiary value, Wes, whether we can use it to get Megal
o’
s ass prosecuted
.
”

“
Consider it done
.
”

“
Thanks, Tiger
,”
I say.
 “
Later
.
”

Letting my thoughts drift, I recall Angie Mille
r’
s frozen mouth, the fact she was a co-ed and the same age as Alaina.  This makes me want to drive straight back to that crack house where I dropped off Alaina.  I know I pissed her off good, but I do
n’
t care.  She has no business involving herself in a homicide investigation.  Tha
t’
s my job.  Wha
t’
s not my job is the feeling I need to protect her, but not the way a cop would one of Oma
r’
s dancers.  I need to protect
her
.  I
t’
s personal.

I swing through Popey
e’
s drive-through.  Thinking
I’
ll call Alaina later and apologize for being overly blunt, I dig a drumstick from the takeout chicken dinner and check in at home. 

Judge Hawks answers my call.
 “
Dad, I ca
n’
t stop by this evening, so can you pass some info to Mom for me
?
”

I fill him in on Vine Work
s
’ progress. 

Vine Works is Mo
m’
s charity foundation.  She named it Vine Works because the Hawks Opera House, the one sh
e’
s tasked me with restoring, is located on Vine Street, and its purpose is to give youths wh
o’
d never get the chance the opportunity t
o“
climb and grow
,”
my mom says.  The
y’
ll use the revitalized Hawk
s
’ Opera House to practice theatre arts and dance.

“I’
ve got my architectural engineer and the historical society talking finally
,”
I say
,“
so w
e’
re moving forward with restoration of the original hardwood floors
.
”

“
Good job
,”
my dad says.
 “
When w
e’
re done with this project, it will keep several generations of Cincinnati youth off the streets
,”
he adds, sounding proud. 

For a second, I imagine Alaina dancing not on the cheap stage at Oma
r’
s but instead on the one
I’
m having restored.  The coupling of my vision of Alain
a’
s delicious body, with the fantasy of her dancing on stage at Hawks Opera Houses, stirs a new fire in my already heated belly.

“
Always leave the world a better place, son
.
”

Noshing another drumstick, I mull over Da
d’
s advice.  I
t’
s pithy, but tha
t’
s my dad, the one Babbs married.  To him, life is easily summed up: do good.  But my life is
n’
t so simple.  I did
n’
t graduate Kin
g’
s Point and then decide
not
to go to law school expressly to piss off my old man.  I tried.  But after a semester wasted at Chase Law School, I figured things out: some guys do good, and
I’
d like to think
I’
m one of them, but
I’
ve got a dark side, one Judge Hawks frequently berates. 

Leave the world a better place.

How about using the world well before leaving it?  To me, this seems a more personally enriching game plan.  Being lucky,
I’
ve claimed all the booty I can, thanks to a ripped body and enough common sense to hide my dark side from women
I’
ve gotten close to. 

“
The legacy you leave behind matters
,”
the judge continues lecturing.  Stopping the last drumstick from my Popey
e’
s chicken dinner on its way to my lips, I wonder if Doc Smalle
y’
s mom gave him the same lecture because, for all I know, h
e’
s got more women in his past than I do and, possibly, several bastards like me running all over Kentucky. 

“
Remember that, son.  Yo
u’
re always focusing on your legacy
,”
Judge Hawks adds, jolting me back from my reverie.

What legacy do I wish to leave behind?

“
Sure, Dad.  Talk to you later.  Be sure to give Mom my progress report on Vine Works
.
”

Dodging a garbage truck, I flip off the driver, and then return to my obsession: Alaina Colby.  She grew up in a little burg called Goshen, Ohio.  Thinking over her hometown and comparing it unfavorably to mine, I savor the chicke
n’
s aftertaste, and think of Alain
a’
s rosebud breasts.  They look exactly like the woma
n’
s in
La Fornarina
, Raphae
l’
s painting of his mistress. 

When I dropped her off at Stoke Farre
l’
s apartment, sh
e’
d leaned into the window and kissed me hard.

I groan.  Wh
y’
d I piss her off with that remark about her harem outfit?  I was
n’
t trying to insult her.  I was warning her off this investigation, damn little hothead.  From the moment she limped into the copy room demanding another look at Angie Mille
r’
s photo, I knew she was hell bent on working herself into this investigation.  That will cause more problems than it solves for us both and put her at risk.

And I give a damn why?

I start looking for motive for my own irrational attraction.  I talked to Alain
a’
s student advisor, who told me sh
e’
s majoring in criminology with a minor in dance.  Maybe tha
t’
s wha
t’
s driving my fixation.  I love dancers.  They treat their bodies like temples, literally.  And I have every intention of worshipping Alain
a’
s.  I stop noshing a drumstick, arrested by an irritating thought.  What if sh
e’
s got a boyfriend?

I let the ugly thought drop and pick up another. 
I’
m twenty seven.  Alain
a’
s going to be twenty-two. 
What if she does
n’
t like older men?
 

I want to get her something for her birthday, but what do you give a girl yo
u’
ve just met and barely know, but think yo
u’
re going mad for? 

The Welcome to Ohio sign pops into view, suspended above the Big Mac, a spot my bruised heart lurches to and then perches when I wonder jealously if Alaina has a boyfriend.  Hellfire, I think, a jolt of lust bouncing my heart back into place in the middle of my chest, but leaving the rest of m
e—
including certain body parts
I’
ve no mind to contro
l—
rising. 

I’
m Aidan Hawks.
 
What woman would
n’
t want me?

* * *

The Buick glides off the Big Mac into downtown Cincinnati. 

I’
m winged Eros, Greek god of love.  Of
course
Alaina wants me.  When sh
e’
d bumped my hand from her shoulder down onto her breast,
I’
d felt the electricity.  I was dying to take her, right there in the Buic
k’
s front seat, in front of God and everyone, in broad daylight.  All that stopped me was imagining the newspaper headline
s—
Cop Arrested for Public Indecenc
y
—
and my parent
s
’ mortified reaction, if
I’
d been caught. 

And the
n—
that kiss.  Sh
e’
d leaned in the window of my Buick and kissed me, unaware the pressure sh
e’
d intended to hurt me had instead turned me on.  Right then,
I’
d formulated my plan: I would have her.

Alain
a’
s student advisor also told me Angie Miller was helping Alaina make a video to enter the Rockette
s
’ jump-the-line competition.  I admire her resolve.  With a disability like hers, sh
e’
s still shooting for the stars, but sh
e’
s not going to get that movie made, not with Angie murdered, unless I help he
r
—

That gives me an idea for her birthday present.  But my plan requires I straighten out the mess
I’
ve created by ordering Alaina to keep off the investigation.  Or was it the remark I made about her skimpy harem outfit that pissed her off? 

Women.  Impossible.  But oh so incredibly mouth watering wonderful.

My cell phone rings.  Maybe i
t’
s DeeDee, wanting phone sex. 

“
Yeah
?
”

“
Hawks
,”
Captain Meyers bawls
,“
meet DeeDee over at Oma
r’
s.  We got another fresh one
.
”
 
The captain then orders
,“
I also want to see your mug in my office tomorrow morning at oh-eight hundred.  W
e’
ve got a review meeting on with Megalo Don, and I want to hear all yo
u’
ve got so far
.
”